


Slow Burn

by PepperF



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, also this is kind of fluffy, and now it's been Jossed, but not majorly, for the 100, up to 403
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: She allows her thoughts to drift. If she had no responsibilities beyond the day-to-day survival of her people, what would she do? She'd get up right now and go knock on his door... no. She wouldn't do that. It's too fast, and she wouldn't be in a hurry, because she'd have time. She'd move slowly. She'd fuckingwoohim.It lightens her heart, the thought of how Bellamy might react to that, and she snuggles deeper into the blankets and closes her eyes. Idly, she begins to map out a different kind of strategy – one that doesn't involve the fate of all humanity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, to Bethany for polishing this into shape!

It's four in the morning, and Clarke can't sleep. 

Again.

There are a thousand things running through her head, a thousand problems with no solution and dead-end plans that won't work. And underneath it all, she keeps hearing Jasper's words: _I don't want us to survive. I want us to live._

She remembers a time – it feels like years ago, but really, it can't be more than a few months – when she'd said something similar to Lexa. And her heart aches as the thought sends her down paths that are already well-worn, memories of all the people she's lost – Lexa, Wells, Finn, her father...

But it's still four in the morning, and she'll have to get up soon and get on with saving the world. She needs to put aside the grief, deal with it later, when she has time – when they _all_ have time. She's going to be useless to everyone if she doesn't get some sleep.

She huffs and turns on her side, tries to think of something else. If the world wasn't ending, if they'd defeated ALIE and that had been the end of it, what would she want to be doing?

Her mind goes to Bellamy. It's becoming a habit.

The guilt, the feeling like she's betraying Lexa, is less now, because it's the end of the world and she knows Lexa wouldn't begrudge her finding some way to keep going, a reason to keep fighting. So she allows her thoughts to drift. If she had no responsibilities beyond the day-to-day survival of her people, what would she do? She'd get up right now and go knock on his door... no. She wouldn't do that. It's too fast, and she wouldn't be in a hurry, because she'd have time. She'd move slowly. She'd fucking _woo_ him.

It lightens her heart, the thought of how Bellamy might react to that, and she snuggles deeper into the blankets and closes her eyes. Idly, she begins to map out a different kind of strategy – one that doesn't involve the fate of all humanity.

In a few minutes, she's asleep.

\---

Bellamy and Miller are due to head out in the rover the next morning. When she gets there, she hands him a hot mug of tea, and ignores his questioning look. 

"Does Raven really think there'll be anything usable left at the Dropship? I thought we'd scavenged everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Which is why we're bringing hammers."

"Ah." She hides her grin in her own drink. "Did she warn you not to blow yourselves up on any remaining rocket fuel? I feel that should be emphasized."

"We'll try our best."

"Good."

It's not unusual for her to come see him off – she does it for other people, too – but Miller still gives her a knowing smirk as he swings himself into the driver's side of the cab. "If you two are done flirting, we've got work to do."

"Fuck off, Miller." Bellamy sighs, and downs the tea in a few gulps, and hands her back the empty mug. "Thanks."

"No problem."

For a second, it looks like he's going to lean in and give her a kiss goodbye – like it's instinctual – but he hesitates, and then quirks a smile at her, and heads for the other side of the rover. "If you're driving, I pick the music," he yells at Miller.

"Fuck no, your taste in music is horrible."

"My taste is the best and you know it."

The engine starts with a characteristic whine, and she catches his brief wave as they pull away, before she turns back into the Ark to get on with her day.

\---

Contrary to what people keep saying, they don't spend all their time together – although her new habit of bringing him tea first thing hasn't helped to kill the gossip. But today, for instance, she has to scour the Ark for him when it reaches dinner time.

"Were you planning on eating?" she asks – snaps, really – and he hits his head on the beam he's just finished welding. Everyone's helping right now, and Clarke's own hands are sore from fixing shielding into place all afternoon, once she couldn't think any more about the logistics of saving the world.

He looks around, a little wild-eyed, rubbing the back of his head. "Clarke, shit, I was..."

"Focusing hard, yeah." She smiles. "And now it's time to eat something, before you really hurt yourself."

"I was fine until _someone_ decided to sneak up on me," he grumbles, but he puts down the torch and hops down to the ground. "Anyway, you're one to talk. Normally I have to drag you away from work. What happened?"

She shrugs as they fall into step. "I decided to take your advice and _eat a real fucking meal, at a table not a desk, princess_ ," she says, dropping her voice to imitate him.

"Hmph. It had to happen someday. I give great advice."

She nudges him with her shoulder as they enter the dining hall. "And so politely, too."

"Shut up and find us a table."

"You go sit down," she says, making it sound like an order, making it sound _certain_. She's good at faking that. "I'll get the food." 

She turns away so he can't argue, and heads for the servers. The selection is sparse because they've already started rationing, and she doesn't let herself think about it, doesn't let her eyes scan over the room and picture what it would look like with eighty percent of the people shut outside to die. Doesn't allow herself to imagine five years locked in the Ark with just a hundred survivors. Doesn't allow herself to think about who's going to live, and who is "nonessential" to the survival of the human race.

Bellamy has found a seat with Harper, Riley, and Monty, and she slides in next to him with a tray and their two bowls, and hands him a spoon. He eyes her curiously for a moment, but takes the cutlery without question.

If he's there with her at the end, whichever way it goes, maybe it won't be so bad.

\---

There are no flowers at the end of the world because the sky is always overcast, and almost everything they own is functional. There are still some frivolous possessions, such as Bellamy's copy of The Iliad, but the market has practically closed down as everyone works to get the Ark ready, and she has no time to search for items in disused rooms and corners. Before, she would have made him something, a picture maybe, but there's even less time for her to get out her pencils.

She doesn't know why she feels this urge to find him a gift. Bellamy probably wouldn't notice or care if she never got him anything, not really. Maybe that's why: it's not about fulfilling a basic need, it's about something more than that. Something to give meaning to the struggle.

_I don't want us to survive. I want us to live._

She thinks about giving him her father's watch. It's no longer functional, but he'd understand how precious it was to her. It would be a promise for the future, for a time when they'd be safe, when they'd have time to get Raven to fix it. But a timepiece feels ominous right now, when they're all counting down.

Luck comes to her aid for once, and a superstitious part of her hopes that she didn't use up any that they'd need later. A group of traders arrive at their gate – thin, weary, and suspicious, but pleased to find a receptive audience. Clarke goes out with the first rush of people, uncharacteristically eager, and she ignores a few curious glances as she sweeps her eyes over the wares. It's mostly scrap – a few mechanical pieces that Raven or Monty might buy (and the Ark will repay), some clothing, weapons, toys, and trinkets. 

Her eye is caught by a spark of vivid color, and she reaches for it without thinking. It's a marble: clear, deep blue with a milky green swirl. It's pre-apocalypse, made using some industrial process that no one has bothered to resurrect. It's about the size of one of those small, sour, apple-like fruits that make a potent alcohol, and the weight and smoothness of it is satisfying in her palm.

When she looks up, the trader is smiling at her knowingly. "Yu gaf in disha, sis?" she asks, opening negotiations.

Clarke ends up trading a knife – far more than the marble is worth, but value is subjective. She rolls it in her hand as she watches the traders packing up, looking satisfied at the profit they've made. She feels guilty, letting them slip away when she knows what's coming, but her focus has narrowed to those she can save. Raven thinks she can boost the numbers to two hundred with the new condensing unit that she and Monty invented practically from scratch. It's still too few.

Later, she rolls the marble across her desk to Bellamy. He catches it and holds it up to the light. "Huh. Looks like Earth."

She smiles, pleased that he's seen that, too. It looks like the view from the Ark – or how Earth used to look, anyhow. It must look different now. "Pretty, isn't it?"

His answering smile is uncomplicated. When he reaches out to give it back to her, she gently curls his fingers closed over it. He raises his eyebrows.

Clarke shrugs. "Belated happy birthday?" she suggests. 

It's weak, but he doesn't question it. Instead, he looks down at the little glass sphere in his cupped hand. "I didn't get you anything." He looks up. "It's in October, right?"

Somehow, she's not surprised that he knows. "The tenth, yeah. That's okay. There's always next year."

Bellamy watches her for a couple of breaths, and finally he nods. "Next year," he agrees.

\---

The end of the world is coming, but in the meanwhile life goes on, and things like guard duty don't go away because they've got too much else to do. They've talked about removing Bellamy from the rota, but he's argued against it. He says he doesn't want to be the kind of leader who never gets his hands dirty, and she believes that's part of it, but she suspects it's also about control. He likes to have something tangible to do to protect his people, something achievable. She can understand that. 

But their time is rapidly running out, so she climbs the ladder by the gate, and lets him help her up the last few steps. "Something you need?" he asks, letting go of her hand when she reaches the top.

She shakes her head. "Just company," she says. "I can't sleep."

He grunts. She suspects that he's not sleeping much lately, either. Yesterday, he'd been planning to keep her company while she wrote the list, but only a few minutes later she'd glanced up to find that his eyes were closed and the frown smoothed from his face, his breath coming even and deep. She hadn't minded; his presence was enough to ground her. 

She leans next to him, gazing out into the absolute darkness beyond their gates. With the cloud cover, there's no visible light. If not for the mountains in the way, they might be able to see Polis.

"What's going on with you lately?" he asks.

If it weren't the end of the world, maybe she'd pretend not to understand what he means. Maybe she'd let him find out for himself. Maybe he wouldn't even ask. But the end is drawing ever closer, and there's only so much longer she can drag this out, so... "I'm trying to seduce you."

There's a long silence.

"Oh," he says at last, in a strangled voice.

"I can stop if it's weird."

"No, no," he says hastily. "No, it's just... you know you don't need to do that, right?"

She dares to look at him at last, but in the darkness it's hard to read his expression. "I don't?"

"Really not. Consider it done already," he says, to her infinite relief. His voice is lower, softer, when he adds, "I'm yours, Clarke. Whenever you want me."

She has to swallow before she can speak, too much joy and sorrow crowding her throat. "But what if I want to do it?" she asks. "I have a whole plan to woo you, you can't just skip right over it. It's rude."

"A plan, huh?" His voice is husky. "What does that involve?"

"Well, you know. Hanging out with you. Taking care of you. Making you feel good and happy and–" Her throat closes, and she has to clear it before she can force the words out, because time is running out and she needs him to know. "And loved."

The silence stretches between them, and she can hear his unsteady breaths. "So what was your next move going to be?"

She shrugs. He's probably not fooled by her attempt to seem casual, but that's okay because he's not very convincing either. "Honestly, I was kind of running out of ideas – and patience – so I was probably going to show up in your bed one night and just improvise."

Apparently that's the last straw, because he makes a low, desperate noise, and turns his head to kiss her. In the dark, the first kiss lands just above her mouth, but as the rest of him follows and she leans up, they find each other by touch alone, and sink into it. Every part of her feels alive, immortal, all-powerful.

And then he pulls away with a groan, and rests his forehead against hers. "Why did you have do this _now_?"

Her stomach clenches. Did he not want to start something when they could all be dead in two months? Was that worse for him than never having her at all? "Well, the – time is running out and I thought–"

He strokes back her hair. "Not that. I mean right now, tonight, when I'm on duty for another four hours," he explains. "You couldn't have ambushed me afterwards?"

"Oh." The relief is overwhelming, and she can't fight the smile. "Sorry. I can go if you want?"

His hands clutch her closer. "No. If I can usually focus when you're around, I should be able to focus now." He sounds like he's giving himself a pep talk, and it makes her feel warm inside – the fact that she's affecting him as much as he affects her. "I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't–"

"I want to. And speak for yourself," she tells him, brushing a light kiss to his lips. "Because I'm going to spend the next four hours thinking about all the things I'm going to do with you when you're done here."

He gives a soft and incredibly gratifying whimper. "Do it in silence," he tells her, pushing her away. "Over there."

She leans obediently against the far post – although the box is only just big enough for two people and if she stretched out her arm, she could touch him – and falls into a pointedly deep silence. He's already getting twitchy.

And if they don't actually manage to behave for four hours, well, it's not the end of the world.


End file.
